


Angel With a Shotgun

by Doodles_of_the_last_page



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, But then so am I, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Character Death, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Fluff, Hurt Crowley, I´m such a bad person, M/M, Major Character Injury, Poetry, Post-Apocalypse, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, So much angst, graphic description of self-violence, plz don´t hate me though, you can hate me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28047432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodles_of_the_last_page/pseuds/Doodles_of_the_last_page
Summary: Post Not-Armageddon scenario.It had been eleven years, eleven days and eleventh hour since the “Apocalypse-that-did-not-happen”. Crowley and Aziraphale were at the back of Zira´s bookshop/living quarters, drinking solidly for quite some time now...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another purely self-indulgent fic written a long long time ago. It has so much sorrow and hurt. And self-harm; hence the mature rating to be safe. If you´re triggered by that please I request you not to read. Crowley projects a lot of the state of mind and this is way to cope with my wrecked and wretched emotions. It is not healthy. NOT A HAPPY ENDING. If you´re here for that Do Not Read! You can hate me all you want...I´m sorry but not-so-sorry for writing it. 
> 
> P.s. The characters do not belong to me. The title is inspired by the song "Angel with a shotgun" by The Cab. If you´ve not heard that song I implore that you do. It is fantastic.
> 
> You have been fore-warned! If you´re brave enough to venture further you have my admiration!! and also lots of love ❤️ (even if you don´t leave comments or kudos- but if you do, they´ll be much appreciated! )

It had been eleven years, eleven days and eleventh hour since the “Apocalypse-that-did-not-happen”. Crowley and Aziraphale were at the back of Zira´s bookshop/living quarters, drinking solidly for quite some time now. It´s not that anyone of them felt the thirst or needed intoxication, but having been on earth for millennia now, they had started to catch up, or rather explore some of the human desires and pleasures and mutually had taken liking to alcohol- although for very much different reasons. And obviously, neither of them was inebriated by consuming normal amount of alcohol which humans did, they had to consume substantially more. Zira liked red wines- which had to be one, exotic French and two, dry. While Crowley was fond of single malt scotch whisky, which Zira kept at his cellar knowing his taste and the more chosen venue of their drinking. It was almost midnight and they haven’t had dinner which actually worked quite well for the intoxication and for the fact that it was six hours of them gulping down liquor and talking about myriads of topics spanning from world politics to new discoveries and inventions, politics, to how the golden age of music had passed since the 70s and so on. They had casually shifted from the table in Zira´s dining to the more comfortable sofa in his living room/study.

Crowley was sitting in a haphazard manner with his limbs sprawled from one corner of the sofa slanting towards the ground and Aziraphale had slowly shifted to ground on the thick Persian rug which felt soft, leaning to the edge of the sofa to give Crowley room to relax his long lanky stature.

“O…Ok…Okay Angel, I musssst take your leave now,” said Crowley sloppily; the elongation in the s sound was an indication that he was drunk. Zira found it quite adorable, not that he ever acknowledged it in front of his friend. “But it is now qua…something after one, are you sure you can drive your … whoossshh that thing you came here in..”. “Automobile?” “Yes. That. Auto..thingy. You can stay here. I have room to spare.” Said Zira. “I´ll be absolutely fine. I can raccccee the car back.” “No. I cannot let you leave in this state. I am the host and this is my res…responsilibity.” Zira was too drunk to realize that Crowley could sober up at will and go back. The thought of sobering up did cross Crowley´s mind but seeing his friend trying to convince him to stay was kind of sweet. Not that he cared for sweet things, he was a demon after all. And sweet made him sick to the stomach but somehow tonight it felt good. He agreed, and Zira beamed at his first overnight guest.

Although drunk, Zira prepared the bed for Crowley as meticulously as he could, stumbling once or twice in the process while adjusting the linens. Zira´s place did not have a room specifically allocated to sleeping activity as neither of them needed to sleep. Although, he had bought a mattress and a bed now, that he thought that the Apocalypse was averted and he ought to relax a little. Apparently, sleeping was one of the worldly practices that Crowley had taken up as a hobby and Aziraphale could not for the love of God figure out why he enjoyed that. The best part of sleeping, or ´being voluntarily dead´ as called by Aziraphale, according to Crowley was the dreams. To be honest, most of the dreams he saw were nightmares and he would be screaming and tossing around aggressively in his bed but who would have pointed that out to him? And because he was demon, he had not quite grasped the definition of nightmares.

“Dear Crowley, your bed is ready, if you would like to turn in for the night!” the physical activity of making up the bed had introduced little sobriety in the angel. Crowley turned up lazily, in almost serpentine motion, showing his true nature a bit, to the bed; flung his Versace black suave jacket onto the night stand, loosened a couple of buttons of his white silk shirt and fell into the bed as kids fall on trampoline after losing the balance while jumping. 

Aziraphale had gone to make himself a nice hot cup of cocoa and started to finish the rest of the book that he was reading before Crowley had turned up and they started their alcoholic affair. Crowley was never into books. Words deluded him and the whole reading between the lines thing irritated the hell out of him. Why the need of writers if eventually we have to use our own imagination and contemplate our own perspectives? He was perfectly capable of quite an imagination by himself- a rare, no, quite an impossible trait in a demon, and he was the only one to have it. At least that’s what he told Zira. But then again, he was never seen reading a single book in the time they knew one another so…He was more into motion pictures, and documentaries fascinated him like anything. He also loved music. You´d think being a demon he would be into electronic music and heavy metal and that sort of thing but actually he hated that. Pure noise. He didn’t even like jazz. Was a bit too much unorganized and out of tune for him. On a contradictory note though, he loved the band Queen; more so for the lyrics. Aziraphale on the other hand, was straight up classical. Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Puccini and all were right up his alley. Sad symphonies lured him a lot. Sadness gave him a sense of love that the endless celestial harmonies of Heaven never did. This was very opposite to the nature of angels generally speaking, but then again, being angel was about having love, compassion and warmth all around and how you defined them was no one else´s business.

Aziraphale was too weary to concentrate and after finishing the hot cup of cocoa- which did little to snap him back to his alertness, went around the bedroom to see how his guest was doing. Crowley was asleep, and as Zira awkwardly stood at the brink of the room contemplating whether he should really intrude like this or not? It felt sinful. Out of the rulebook. Forbidden, of sorts. Not that he had never seen Crowley sleep, but that was long time ago and the circumstances were completely different. Then again, curiosity got the better of him and in hindsight he mused; now that Upstairs won´t bother him for a while and that crisis is forestalled (till God knows when), he might just try to let go of himself a little. And he was just going to take a peek, not disturbing Crowley and nowhere in the Bible was it mentioned, “Thou shalt not glance at a sleeping Demon…”

So, tip-toeing he entered the room and found Crowley curled up in a foetal posture on one side of the bed leaving almost three quarters of the space empty. The street light from far away glazed nonchalantly on his face. There was nothing demonic about him, observed Aziraphale as his eyes traced from the red curls on his forehead to his cheeks and studied the contour of his countenance till, they rested on his parted lips. Oh, he was exquisite! Aziraphale stood there, cemented to the floor, watching Crowley´s breath ebb and fall- although Crowley didn´t need to breathe, but had practiced it anyways to you know, blend in which now sort of formed a habit- through his unbuttoned shirt. His eyes we not fully shut either and Zira saw the golden iris moving underneath the long eyelashes. He did not know that Crowley was dreaming. The peaceful expression on his face gave an ethereal glow reminding Zira of the fact that Crowley indeed was an angel once. “I didn’t mean to fall, you know Angel?” “I just asked some questions and hung out with Lucifer coz I thought he too was looking for the answers. It is not a sin to be skeptical and curious, is it?” Crowley had argued once. Long before, sometime in late 14th century when they were in Florence.

Aziraphale´s mind, fickle as it was and prone to overthinking- coz that´s what you do when you have eternity, no need to sleep, a human corporation which has been with you a long time and you are fidgety by nature- a rather perfect combination. Crowley, on the other hand was quick witted, suave, intelligent (although not in a bookish sort of way that Aziraphale was), pragmatic and curt. Not only his body was sharp and angular, so was his tongue. He was not soft and vulnerable and loving. At least that is what he showed and maintained. There were numerous times throughout their history when Aziraphale had caught him doing kind, caring and very undemonic deeds- which Aziraphale tried to acknowledge initially but then Crowley would close-up, be irritated, furious, snarky and the angel would not see him at least for half a century. Obviously Aziraphale did not want Crowley to be upset, whatever they were, though he could not define them they were definitely not enemies that was crystal clear from the first day the Wall of Eden. Ergo, the angel never brought it up. But he thought about all of that. A lot. Demons were unforgivable, unlovable and unworthy. The angel could not even begin to fathom how would it feel to have infinite love and then being stripped off it in an instance. What would it feel like to be hollow after all-encompassing compassion and Grace? To radiate brightness and divinity at one point then being sucked into a black hole. Maybe that is why Crowley was so cold all the time, yes well, he was a snake that too but he was also capable of maintaining his body temperature- they were of the same original stock after all. Now coming to think about it, Aziraphale realized that it must be the other sort of cold that engulfed his Demon, something innate missing in him which led to a perpetual iciness; that could not be miracled away. He felt sad for him. Utterly devastated at the injustice in Her plan, Her actions. Then, it grew into fury, lingering dangerously close to blasphemy. He wanted more so than ever to pour all his warmth into the Demon. Of all the angels he´d met since his existence, Crowley was the most kind, thoughtful, caring and virtuous- which he would never dare to express in front of him, no matter how much he wanted to. How he Fell, the angel would never ever know. It was beyond ineffable.

A subdued groan woke up Zira from his rivière as he saw stress and agony take over the tranquility on Crowley´s face. Aziraphale felt sudden jerk of pain hit him and an irresistible urge to hold Crowley, grasp him under the safety and warmth of his wings…

It was not till after three weeks Aziraphale and Crowley met again to dine at Crowley´s flat this time. Something had changed for Aziraphale after that night; which he was not quite able to place correctly. And after long contemplation, he blamed it on liquor. This wasn’t the first time that this sort of feeling had taken over Aziraphale and had he been alert that night, he would have recognized it as déjà vu. The multitude instances in the past where this sort of emotion had taken over him, he had always waived it as angelic reflex; which was not entirely false. But tonight, he was going to be about his wits and not drunk like a fool. It had been a while since he visited Crowley at his apartment, located in the posh London area of high-rise flats and corporate headquarters. It was scarcely yet adequately furnished with combination of white and black walls and furniture. The other visible colour was green from the house plants which Crowley was overly possessive of. They were one of the most rare, luscious and most verdant plants one could find. The drawing room huge and view through the French windows magnificent. He too was a creature of taste, although modern and contemporary, unlike Aziraphale who loved the classical and traditional stuff.

Crowley had prepared a gourmet dinner for them to enjoy and left Aziraphale utterly surprised where and when Crowley had learned to cook such delicacies. And why hadn’t he tasted them before? More than six thousand years and still Crowley managed to pleasantly amaze him. Quite a feat on the demon´s part indeed. Little did he know that the near future had a much bigger surprise in its fold. “My dear, how and when and where did you learn the art of culinary? And why am I learning about this just now?”, he HAD to inquire. “Well, I picked up a course or two since my last trip to Paris just before the start of the Armageddon was initiated, where I was made the principle tool on Earth, you know the story…you were there.” “Then it never sorts of occurred to me after the chaos to go back to it until last week I found my old course books, Angel!” “You are absolutely the first to taste this skill, I swear by Sata- sorry, old habits, by the world.” “You don’t have to swear by anything dear chap, I am just delighted I have the pleasure to relish it!” “I just hope I do not commit the vice of Gluttony tonight!”, chuckled Aziraphale gleefully. Crowley smirked at him mischievously, a sparkle in his golden eyes knowing he had the Angel right where he wanted. Bear in mind, Crowley had no bad intentions, he did not want to make any trouble; he just was happy with the praise and that he made Zira succumb to his temptation. After all, that was his business. Temptation.

After hefty courses of scrumptious dishes, Crowley went in to serve dessert and Zira inquired if they could play some music. Crowley told Zira to go to the sanctum sanctorum of his flat and take a record of his choice from the collection in the right-hand side closet. Aziraphale, by mistake, opened the left-hand side closet and found a collection of poetry books instead. He was flabbergasted; by the size and choice of the collection, and mostly because he had unearthed a very private secret of his friend´s life. He wanted to shut the door and go back immediately, but the bibliophile in him would not let him move. He could not help but admire the collection with a respectful awe and the stupor on his face was a sight to behold. There was Shakespeare, Whitman, Keats, Yeats, T S Eliot, Rilke, Celan, Tagore, Frost, Dickinson, Wordsworth, Plath, Homer, Rumi, Gibran, Dante… the list went on, and almost all first editions. Aziraphale took out one collection by Whitman with utmost care and opened it to find it signed,

“Sometimes with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse unreturn’d love,

But now I think there is no unreturn’d love, the pay is certain one way or another…

May your love be returned,

-Walt Whitman”

Aziraphale was too much engrossed in the book when he found a disheveled, folded, old, yellow page inside and just as he was about to open it, he felt Crowley´s hand shut the book with intense force, a gasp came out of Zira´s mouth worrying about the fragile condition of the late 19th century book. Crowley furiously took the closed book out of Zira´s hand, shoved it in the closet and stormed the door shut. None of them realized that the page was still folded and in Zira´s hand. “Know your bounds, Angel,” snapped Crowley as he stomped out of the room back to the dining table, Zira followed behind apologizing profusely “I am really sorry my dear, it was a terrible, terrible mistake on my part. I did not know. Please…please forgive me for such stupidity…” his blue eyes almost brimming with tears as his voice croaked. Crowley looked back at the angel and the expression of genuine guilt and apology melted his anger and he cursed himself under his breath as he realized it. What was done, was done. He could now not undo what Zira had witnessed, so he decided not to stretch it further to save himself and more importantly, the angel from further humiliation.

Seeing Crowley, a teensy bit calm, Aziraphale mustered a little courage and asked him why he had kept this a secret? Aziraphale loved to display his books proudly, which was partly the reason he had opened the bookshop in the first place- although he didn’t like to part with them and seldom let the books sell from his shop. “Look Angel, I would not want you to understand but I am a demon and I have an image to maintain.”, he scowled, but the inferno in his golden eyes had now subsided, making Zira more comfortable. “But why? Can´t a demon be poetic?” “No. I am not soft, not emotional, nor big with words. There is nothing poetic about me, YOU UNDERSTAND?”, roughness in his voice that Zira had witnessed just once before, when they were at the corporate retreat Tadfield Manor looking for Anti-Christ and Crowley had brushed him to the wall upon implying that deep down he was actually quite nice. “How can you even say that? Have you ever seen yourself walk? Have you ever heard yourself speak? Have you ever seen your smile? I would absolutely disagree with the statement.”, a tone of extreme fervor and honesty rang in his voice. Aziraphale was now boosted. He had said it with such a belief and coming from the angel, who did not lie (which was not entirely true) - Crowley decided better than to argue. “I´ll bring the dessert.”, he got up and went to the kitchen.

Zira realized that he still had the letter with him and wanted to open and read it but he didn´t want to upset Crowley again so decided to wait and ask for his permission. When Crowley returned with two plates of dessert, Zira calmly put the letter on the table and asked with utmost politeness and softness if he could read it. Aziraphale knew that now that his secret exposed, Crowley was vulnerable (whatever ´tough´ appearances he thought he kept, after sixty centuries, Zira was not going to be fooled) and if he played his cards carefully, Crowley would oblige. And that is precisely what happened. Although feeling embarrassed to his core, betrayed even, Crowley thought that now there was nothing left which he could hide from the angel, he felt kind of naked, and also that the angel had no secrets from him-at least that is what he thought (especially after they decided they were on their own side), he decided to let him read the letter. To astonishment of the angel, there was a poem written in the letter in sharp, slant cursive, which he instantly recognized to be Crowley´s handwriting.

´ _This is how it is to love you;_

_A cigarette-burn to my heart._

_All is truly lost,_

_Sorrow caught and smile forlorn._

_Not enough stars for everyone,_

_Storm is fine, nothing ever divine,_

_Not all ships have beaches in arms._

_Worth found brittle, withered;_

_Grief encompassing in perpetuity._

_Fall into abyss and unreturned,_

_All love does is smites._

_If parchedness is fated,_

_Then let it be,_

_Redemption is not possible,_

_Then sorrow I shall see._

_This is how it really it is;_

_A cigarette-burn to the heart._

-A. J. Crowley,

11/12/1916. ´

As Zira proceeded through the poem, his amazement changed to admiration, then adoration and then to pure love. He beamed with utmost delight at the piece of writing and looked with so much grace and softness at Crowley, the demon averted the gaze from his face which he had been studying carefully since the angel started reading the poem. Seeing the date, Zira´s expression changed to a repentant one, which Crowley did not notice. He could not look into the angel´s eyes anymore. “If I am not mistaken, this is the day when we-I…” stammered Aziraphale. “Yes. It is.” “There after we- I did not speak to you for...” “Almost twenty-five months.” Crowley cut in with as much as control he could have over the emotional turmoil that was going on in his head. “And I never apolo…” “No.”, Crowley´s gaze was still fixated on the ground. He didn´t dare to look up; cursing silently at the fact that he didn´t have his shades on when he needed them the most. It would be very, very unbecoming of the demon to be vulnerable around anyone, let alone the only entity who was his constant companion for as long as he could remember. The one thing that left Crowley bare were his eyes. Even when he was an angel, he remembered he did not like anyone- not even God at times to stare at his eyes and gaze into his soul. And now that he was Fallen and even though his eyes were part of the curse as a Serpent, he could not control his true emotions flowing freely, visible through them. He could feel the angel´s deep, blue eyes piercing him through whatever he had instead of a soul.

Aziraphale stood up from his chair and came up to Crowley, who shifted uneasily in his chair sensing the angel walk toward him. The tension in Crowley’s treacherous body was clearly visible as he was now vibrating like a tuning fork, another thing- that came into light, that he could not control. Cautiously, Aziraphale knelt down and drew himself near Crowley, placing his hand, with feather-like touch, on Crowley´s sharp cheekbones, tracing his lower lip with his thumb. He lifted Crowley´s face and gazed into those bright, golden eyes, radiant as the sun, shimmering with tears; a sense of hope, trepidation, and longing in them. Crowley stiffened and shuddered nervously as he felt Zira´s breath drawing close to him, lingering warmth of the angel, so close, so divine that he thought that it would discorporate his corporeal form; unable to comprehend that he- a demon could ever be worthy of such a pure being. Zira, sensing his dilemma and fear, moved away from Crowley´s parted lips and kissed him gently, reverentially, like bestowing a benediction, mustering all the intimacy he could convey for the last six thousand years wasted, on his forehead and gracefully left.


	2. Chapter 2- A detour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the self-harm part. Discretion is advised.
> 
> P.S. The mental health issues are not to be taken lightly and the author would beseech you to consult professionals for help if you suffer through any of that and if they are triggered by reading this.

Terror and chaos struck hard and fast, tearing through the tranquility that poised the city of Sarajevo, Bosnia. It was much restlessness in Europe, Serbia, Russia and Ottoman empire since quite some time now. Peace hung by a lose thread as it and that date set the domino of events scattering engulfing the Great war in 1914. The Archduke Franz Ferdinand- heir to the Austro-Hungarian empire had been assassinated in cold blood, and the rest, followed as history tends to do…

**1916:**

“Retreat! Everyone! All of you… That´s an order! Retreat. I repeat. Retreat and spread the message in the platoon, corporal!”

Clad in khaki, the tall, lanky figure was giving orders. Captain Crowley. Still sounded wired. But it was no time to indulge in odd sounding alliterations. The demon had more important task at hand. Dark clouds gathered giving unmistakable indication of roughness to follow. The enemy advanced forward, and they had to swoop to the trenches before storm could put everything they had worked for to shambles. Seeing the situation would get under control, Crowley slipped away. It was quite easy for a snake anyways and the chaos made it easier. Passing now through the German lines, he had miracled himself to a gray battle uniform. Hauptmann Crowley, as he was known here.

Somme. Such a beautiful tapestry, now tampered in horrors forever. Why would humans do this to others and themselves? He always wondered. Was he Fallen or was humanity truly the Fallen one? Mused Crowley as light faintly flickered in the small quarter of the trench. It was quiet except for scattered sounds of bombing here and there. Now and then. Nearby cities. Ughh. They wouldn´t even stop at night. He got up and walked around, getting out of the deep dug trenches, breathing the cold humid air in his human lungs.

“Why should they suffer!?”, he cried looking at the soldiers on both sides. He could ask all the questions on Earth. Can´t Fall more than this, can he? Already faced the oblivion! What more really can it be? “Why let them suffer? For all the stupid games that the rich, high leaders, the kings, the politicians, the businessmen, the powerful played. Why should the common always suffer?” he knelt down and tenderly stroked the trampled, crushed grass. A gesture of sorts.

He´d been fighting to save lives. On both sides. For almost three months now. Although in his report he wrote that he´d been fighting double side to procure more souls, wreak more havoc and seek more destruction. Worked for Downstairs. They didn´t have to know. Had received a second commendation in two years. First for triggering the war after the assassination and other for the Somme. He had nothing to do with the Archduke tough. Was just at the place at the time. Right or wrong depended on perspective really. Downstairs just assumed. And he didn´t care at the time. Didn’t know that the fight would turn to such genocide and massacre.

It was chilly December in 1916. A cheap rental in the middle of Paris. Hard wooden bed, questionable chair and a quarter to four-legged table. Crowley was exhausted after the battle of Somme. Mentally, more than physically. Even a demon had his limits. He´d been through earthly miseries for millennia now. Six of them. It was almost evening and he wanted to get sloshed. So, he went out to a pub.

“Angel! Fancy you seeing here!”, he slid down on the stool beside Aziraphale at the bar. Feeling of genuine warmth and goodness came over him. Had been a long time since he felt like this. Hadn´t seen the angel until before the assassination in Bosnia and then humanity wasn´t helping. “Crowley! Find some time from creating the new Hell, have we?”, Zira was rude, no he was angry. Properly angry. “It´s not like that, Angel…”

“Don’t play with me demon. Should’ve understood from the beginning. Should’ve headed Gabriel´s warning from the start. You can´t change. The likes of you. You have no chance. You are…you truly are Fallen.” That stung. His voice stung. Spread like venom through Crowley. Ironic. Immobilsed him. He wanted to explain. So much. Everything.

“Angel. Please...”, he almost sobbed, implored the angel to just fucking listen.

“Thought you were different, you know. Thought deep down, you still had some empathy. If not sympathy or compassion. Thought you didn´t deserve to Fall just for asking questions. I was utterly wrong. I know Crowley. I know. The assassination, the battle in Somme. I know this is your doing. You were at both places. This is cruel, even for you. Heard you received commendation from below.” There was suffering, bitterness and disappointment in Aziraphale´s voice. More than that, there was a sense of betrayal.

Before Crowley could say or do anything, the angel left. The words lingered in the air for a long time. It was somehow worse that falling into the abyss of Hell. It was worse than all the miseries, all the tortures he´d endured till now. It was worse than when he had God´s love taken from him when he fell as an angel. The void that sensation left was all consuming, soul (or whatever he had) sucking out of his very being. All these times he had been through numerous catastrophies, causalities, Godly and man-made. The crusades, the plagues, famines, floods, fires, so much destruction, so much pain so much violence. It had been too much now. This was the final blow, when the angel, _his angel_ , accused him of lying. _His angel_ , hating him for what he was. _His angel_ , never coming back. This was the feeling of universe collapsing around him. He drank until all his human senses numbed. Wasn’t enough. Crept into his shabby room and slept. Woke up. Drank till the point of unconsciousness took ever. Woke up. Drank… Had been weeks now. Alcohol didn’t help. So, he turned to drugs. Cannabis, amphetamines, cocaine, hallucinogens… All the vices known, he had them delivered. Months went by. He no longer had sense of time and place. His arms were scaled with needle holes and multiple cuts that did not heal anymore and blood dripped from the new ones he made. All of this still did not let him give up the sinking feeling. He deserved torture. He deserved misery. For everything. For being a creature of Evil, for being a demon. For the horrors surrounding the world. He needed the pain. He deserved the agony. He cut himself. Let them bleed. His arms, his thighs, his palms, torso. Enough to bleed and enough for pain, but not enough for his corporeal form to disintegrate. The only silence from his room would come when he slipped into unconsciousness.

Had been two more years. The war was over. People were rising from the after-shock. Coming together and rebuilding. Cities, homes, societies and trust. Aziraphale was relieved. And helping. Helping with all this might. But also looking around for something else. Rather someone else. Every time he saw a red head, tall frame dressed all in black, he would turn his head. It was never Crowley. A year and a half later he had found out that Crowley WAS really innocent of the doings of the war. Since then he started searching for him frantically. He was hurt by how he behaved last time they met. He had to see Crowley. He had been to Paris a couple of times but it was a big city and who knows if Crowley was even there. And assignments from Upstairs had been pouring like anything taking him across Europe after the war. He HAD to track down Crowley. Before, they had been able to sense each other. Sense their auras. Now Aziraphale couldn´t. either Crowley was too far or he had cut off all contacts with the angel. ALL CONTACTS.

Finally, after another six months of frantic searching, Aziraphale found out the whereabouts of a certain red headed gentleman in Paris. Tall, lanky, sleek figure, always wore shades. Hopes high, he reached to the address. The state of the building was shaky, close to filthy, Zira clenched his nose at pungent smell, but it was not anywhere near compared to what was going to be inside. He knocked at the door.

“Crowley!” “Are you there?”

Another knock. No answer. Another call. Nothing. He pressed his ear intently to the door and listened. After a while he heard a hissing sound. Seemed excruciating painful. Aziraphale knocked the door down and the sight on the other side compelled a terrified scream out of the angel. Crowley was there alright but this did not give the angel any joy. He was lying there, slipping in and out of consciousness, clothes tattered, bleeding, injuries turned black, hissing continuously, limbs sprawled in unlikely directions. He was a snake, that´s true but the twisted posture was too much even for a snake. The bloodied syringes, burner, glass bottles, strewn around the room. The pungent smell of blood, stains, void of fresh air, stale alcohol and other substances he´d used on himself was nauseating. Smelled like death, hopelessness.

How could he have done this to himself? Why would he do this to himself? The lithe figure with trendiness and swag dripping through every pore, those mischievous golden eyes with black slits, those verdant red curls, that lop-sided smile, had somehow evaporated entirely from his being. This was not the time to think of such frivolous things. He had to save Crowley. He had to bring his friend back. He stepped into the room, treading lightly, going around all the mess clattered. He reached out to Crowley, who still was alive, breathing heavily in breaks but alive nonetheless. Aziraphale held out a hand, paused mid-air; he was afraid of the fragile state the demon was in. he didn´t want to hurt him further. As he moved closer, trying to figure out how to hold him and carry him out, he felt a tear run down his cheek. He gently slid one hand on his back and one under the knees and lifted Crowley up, and a second later, they were at Aziraphale´s place. Zira placed his friend on the bed which was made soft miraculously. He could heal the demon by using his Grace, but it was risky, since it would mean using Heavenly sources and that would be hurtful for a demonic being. The wounds were too deep and Crowley too brittle. So, the best way, angel mused, was to nurse him back the human way and using as little Grace as possible.

He got rid of the dirty clothes and cleaned him. Then he nursed all his wounds and bruises. Now he had to help get Crowley his strength. Make something eat. But how? His lips were dried up and skin withered like scales that snake is going to discard. He worried it would fall apart if he touched it. He made milk and honey potion, dipped it in cotton and let it slide down his throat. The task was tedious and time consuming, but the angel had all the patience in the universe. After some days, the hissing stopped and heart-rate returned to nearly normal. Though not fully aware of the surroundings, Crowley was at least sleeping with warm blankets and an angel wrapped around him. Crowley would let out a scream now and then from the excruciating pain as the angel continued to stroke his hair, shushing him, consoling “It´s okay, I´m here…” into his ears, not leaving his side for a moment. He held him close, even though it killed him to see Crowley like this. Aziraphale tried to be strong. Had to be strong, for his friend´s sake. There were times when Aziraphale would find himself choked up, sometimes leading to silent sobs, tears trailing down his face; and at those times he would clutch Crowley closer to him as possible. He couldn´t help but stroke his hair, kiss him on the forehead, cheeks, eyes, gazing longingly for him to wake up. It was hard to tell whether he was comforting Crowley or himself.

After eight days, finally Crowley opened his eyes. Slowly he registered his surroundings. Clean room, comfy bed and an angel enveloped around him reading. Then it started coming back to him. Bosnia, the Somme, the fight, the descend into nothingness. It was all too overwhelming. Why was Aziraphale here? Why was he curled up around him? He was still too exhausted to think clearly. Whatever it was, it felt wonderful, the fuzzy feeling of the angel who smelled like books, cocoa and fresh rain. Crowley drifted off again. “Crowley…” said the angel as he felt him stir, making vague, faint sounds. Crowley opened his eyes with effort; Aziraphale was moving his hand in his hair, resting it down on his cheeks.

“Are you awake? How are you feeling?” the melodious voice fell to his ears, dripping like honey.

“Hmm…”

“Would you like some soup?”

“Hmm.”

The angel miracled a bowl of soup, helped Crowley sit up and fed him. It was first `food` food that he had and after a few spoons, Crowley belched, puking the soup out.

“Oh, I´m sorry I made…”, it was instantly miracled away with a radiant and sympathetic smile.

“Would you like to rest now, my dear?”

“Yes. Thank…”

“Don´t, love.”

_It was the first time Aziraphale had called Crowley that. `love`. Did he really mean it? Had Crowley been anywhere near of sound mind, he would have made irritated expression veiling the blush rushing to his cheeks. But now, tonight, he didn’t notice. There was still too much pain and not much sense of space and time._

Aziraphale started to move out of the bed to the chair to make more space for Crowley, but felt a tug on his arm. “Stay.” The word held hope, beseech, and fear of rejection all at once. And he did. Crowley´s grip around his waist tightened. His head found its way in the crook of the angel´s neck as Crowley slid his legs onward the angel. The angel was pudgy. Slightly rounded, plump belly, plush thighs, little shorter than Crowley but as strong as he was soft and mushy. Afterall, he´d been a warrior once. Crowley felt safe; at home. He drowsed again and Aziraphale glanced as comfort peeked itself on the demon´s face. He slid even closer as he placed a firm kiss in his fiery curls.

Days passed and Crowley was starting to get back to normal. Physically at least. The wounds healed, colour returned to his skin; not that he had much from the beginning. He had always been pale but now didn´t seem like new cotton sheet. Aziraphale still helped him with the baths; not that the demon needed it but the warm water helped him heal. He didn´t ask Zira to sleep with him anymore although he wanted him to. The coziness and warmth of the angel was…well angelic, and no bed or blanket in the world could provide that. But Crowley knew his boundaries. The angel was taking care of him, yes, for now; he knew better than to impose.

It was one such night, Crowley was sitting at the window, curled up in a chair; looking longingly at the sky. He looked at the stars that he had helped create, before he Fell. Such an important task, such magnificent things. He was chosen for the arduous task of decorating the universe alongside God because he had imagination and taste like no other angel did. How he had forged them from his heart, given them light and fire, burning hard like his own radiance, full of Love, Warmth and Wonder. He was happy then. Of course, Crowley didn´t remember much from before, as their names and their identities were taken from them as part of the punishment, but the vivid memories of him fashioning the stars, placing them carefully in the sky, decorating the Universe, making a mark, hung around like bitter aftertaste. It was cruel. All of his precious collection hung over him, for thousands of years for him to see, and remind him of what he had been, once; and what he was now. It cast a gloom over his face and he sighed.

“Anything wrong, dear?”, soft voice trailed from behind.

“No.”, the demon tried to remain as stoic as he could, still looking out the window.

Aziraphale sensed the clear ring of melancholy in his voice. He kept his book aside, got up and stood by the curled-up demon, a hand over his shoulder. “Beautiful, isn´t it? The radiance. The glow. The eternal fire. The sheer brilliance. How can someone possibly create such things? How much loved those angels would be? How much cherished? I´m definitely jealous. I would have loved to meet the masterminds I never knew anyone on the Cosmos Creation Team.”

Obviously, Aziraphale was oblivious that the angel-rather the former angel who was an integral part of the team that created them was right beside him. The Rebellion occurred shortly after the work with stars was done and the whole ´who made the stars´ thing was hushed up. Of course, the Heaven wasn´t going to go around advertising that now fallen angels had created them! Most angels on the team had Fallen and the few that left behind had caged up the memories. The Great War had left memories and stories and emotions altered. Even the last of the nebulae and supernovas were compelled out of Crowley as he had started asking questions and Michael already had taken to hate him. Hearing such honest appreciation made Crowley sick to the stomach instead of being proud. Not only it brought back all the sorrow, but the realization that he was now not at all worthy for anything the angel was doing for him, made a tear roll down his cheek. He let out a silent sob.

“Crowley, what happened? Did I say something? Did I do something? Is your body aching?”, fortunately or unfortunately, the angel had noticed that.

“Nothing.”, Crowley could barely say the word and his voice cracked.

“Oh, dear boy! I have upset you, haven´t I? Please. Please tell me what´s going on?” Crowley now burst into tears, facing away from the angel. Just as Aziraphale tried to gather him in his arms, he pushed him away, jolting up from the chair. “Don´t touch me. Why are you doing this for me angel? Why are you healing me? Just leave me be. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you. Your kindness, your friendship. Just go! Just fucking leave like you never were going to stay…” he tried to take a few steps forward but sunk to his knees instead, sobbing like a child who had his favourite toy broken right in front of it. The words stung Aziraphale. Deeper and harder than anything ever did. But Crowley was distressed, he wouldn´t hold it against him.

Contrary to what he was told, Zira went to the demon, kneeled and held him tight. Saying nothing. Aziraphale didn´t have anything that he could say to make the demon feel better. They stayed like that on the floor for a while; until Crowley was all cried out. He looked at the angel. No anger; calm, peace and radiance. No judgement. Just comfort. _Fuck you, angel,_ Crowley thought to himself. He was irritated by the perfection.

“Me. It was me.” It was Crowley who broke the silence.

“What dear?”

“The stars. It was me. I was one of the main angels.”

“What? Are you SERIOUS?”, the bewildered angel got all squeaky.

“Would I ever lie to you?”

“NO. It´s jus…It´s tha…It´s…I had absolutely no IDEA!!! All these years and you never told me!!! Not ever? With all the rubbish you say all the time??? Fuck me, Crowley”, the delight in the angel´s voice made Crowley feel better all of a sudden.

 _I would gladly if you let me angel._ Crowley shrugged and gave a bitter chuckle.

Aziraphale spontaneously turned and gave him a peck on the lips, his eyes sparkling. “All this time I looked and wondered and it was my friend all along!!! Oh!!! It´s just…marvelous! The stories you must have behind each of the creations!! Fascinating! Did you create Alpha Centauri? And Sirius? And Rigel? And Vega? Pollux? Bellatrix?... And did you name them too?? Oh, dear how immensely talented you are!! Pure genius. I absolutely have fallen in love with…”, Crowley´s heart raced at the thought of Zira completing the sentence, pulse rising as he thought he was going to discorporate, “the stars. I love them.” Zira was like an admirer who had met his favourite celebrity for the first time. All giggly and squeaky and totally head over heels. He looked so flushed and cheeks all pink than they had any right to be. The angel was absolutely adorable. Crowley wanted at this moment to kiss Zira with every fiber of his being, but he couldn´t. Crowley decided to hold on this moment, this thought of _his angel_ as this was the closest, he could get to holding him…

Aziraphale got up and hurried to get a bottle of the finest wine, taking a sip and handing it to Crowley and perched himself cross-legged on the floor in front of the demon. “Tell me. Tell me everything about it.”, his hand beneath his chin, his baby blue eyes wide and full of curiosity. “Come on now. Don´t tantalize me.”

“Ok. Well, it was before I was, you know, when I still was an angel…”

They talked for the whole night, Zira absorbing each and every word that Crowley had to offer. The story was more fascinating that any of the books he´d read (some did come close-but of course the angel was biased).

“But why does no one know that you created them? They don´t give you credit. THIS IS SO UNFAIR! No one ever talks about it. The whole thing is hushed up. And you´re not allowed to ask. I once asked Gabriel and he got so angry at me. He threatened I was not to ask any questions unless I wanted to Fall. That bast- bad angel. I´ve always hat…not liked him. Immensely. Makes me feel stupid all the time.”, Zira pouted and frowned his brows in annoyance at the memory of Gabriel.

 _Oh, for Satan´s sake, how much cuter can you get angel!_ Crowley laughed, for first time in weeks now, at Zira´s expressions and his head arched back. Zira stared at the curve of his long neck, taut collar bones, through the loose shirt he was wearing. A rush of affection soared through Zira´s body. A heavenly satisfaction that he, he made his friend laugh. Just a couple of seconds without distress covering up the demon´s beautiful face. It was perfect. He reached out before rationality could catch up and kissed the tip of the demon´s nose. Then gulped down the rest of the wine from the bottle.

The night was undoubtedly magical. Crowley had not felt such cheerfulness in a long, long time now. As he went to bed, tired from the talk and dizzy from the wine, he wanted to urge Zira to join him. He wanted to tell the angel how he really felt about him. How much he had loved him since Eden. Irrevocably and hopelessly and so very much ´undemonically´. Tonight, his gut told him that the angel felt the same way. But an infinitesimal probability of doubt refused to leave him. What if the angel didn´t reciprocate his feelings? What if it were his own emotions mirrored off the angel? How could he know that the angel, being a creature of Love himself, felt the same sort of Love as he had towards all the other creation, as he was programmed to have? What if it was because of the stars? What if it was because of the alcohol? What if it was because of the ambience? There were too many parameters at play here. He succumbed to sleep thinking.

Similar thoughts were running through Zira´s mind as he was sitting on the chair opposite to the bed. He had a book in his hand but hadn´t read one line. He watched the demon sleep as the first ray of dawn penetrated through the window illuminating the bed and the demon. He stared, utterly enamored, at the lithe figure in front of him, wild thoughts racing his mind and sending electric pulses through the tendrils of his nerves. For all the mesmerizing romance novels and poems, he had read and had memorized (respectively-hoping to put the verses to use sometime), he hadn´t a slightest clue how to make his move.

Crowley was definitely feeling better now. They´d even started to go out to restaurants, parks, eating, drinking, chatting away like before. Crowley did not consume much food, he wasn’t into food as much as he loved alcohol, but the angel loved good food and Crowley loved to watch the angel eat. It was a treat by itself. The satisfying moans of appreciation and fulfilment that the angel let out, savouring each bite of the delicacies were ridiculously arousing in nature, his eyes closed reveling in the delicious sensation, the way he dabbed his lips with the napkin after finishing his meal; Crowley loved watching him ravishingly, a smile playing on his own lips. He thought that the angel had no idea as Crowley always kept his eyes hidden in the shades, but the angel did, and didn´t mind at all.

It was only a matter of time before one of them was called off by either of their offices for next assignment. Hell was busy collecting the souls from the war and would not bother Crowley for a while now after the most commendable job done. But for all the reports Aziraphale was writing from Paris and nearby areas, he was called for an assignment in Russia now. He was not at all delighted and tried to excuse himself out of it. He was still worried about what Crowley might do and that he´s still not well. Or that´s what he told himself; Crowley was at this point perfectly fine and had returned to his normal self, all thanks to his angel but Zira somehow didn´t want to leave him. There was this strange feeling that he had had for centuries now for Crowley which he could not quite fathom the nature of. No doubt, he was a creature of Love and felt love all around him and for everything around him but he shouldn´t feel this for a demon! None of the other angels and archangels did. Despite being the creatures of Love, they utterly despised Hell and its residents; and had made it clear time and again. And it´s not that he felt this ´unacknowledged strange gush of overwhelming affection ´ towards other demons! He absolutely didn’t like Hastur, the duke of Hell and his partner Ligur who visited Earth time and again to catch-up with Crowley.

He thought about all the little things that the demon did subconsciously when Aziraphale was treating him, holding him, caring for him. How he would snuggle just a tad closer to the angel without being aware of the action, though had he been aware, he would not have complied himself like this. The angel thought if Crowley had ever been held with love and tenderness before. Of course, it could not be expected of Hellish creatures but the demon had lived among humans for quite some time now. Surely there would be some human at some point who must have done so. There was no doubt that the demon was attractive to a nauseating degree, with sinuous curves, swagger dripping from each pore and of course he dressed provocatively in any era and whatever gender that he had chosen at the particular event; unlike Aziraphale who despised, and could not, rather would not keep up with ever changing human customs and fashions. Little did he know that the demon was very much touch starved. Humans would always see him as an object of Lust and owing to most of his assignments, there was temptation, seduction, adultery, fornication but there was never tenderness, love, comfort or security. Forming dalliances with humans who were fleeting ephemeral presence was not worth it. Even more so after the demon had been aware of his feelings for a particular angel. He did not want other company anymore. He had accepted his fate of the unrequited feelings as a foul fiend due to many reasons. It was one of the worst form of tortures that he would endure and thought that he deserved as a part of being Fallen one. He had accepted that he would make a fool of himself time and again if it meant seeing only a trace of smile on the angel´s face, if he could bring the angel only a smidgen of happiness that would make his whole being glow with ethereal light, he would be redeemed just a touch. Not that he deserved to be redeemed. Unforgivable, unlovable- that was what he was. It was part of the demon´s job description- but then again, when he had ever been the one to follow rules? Be it heaven or hell, he was never a perfect angel and made an even worse demon. And Aziraphale was oblivious to all of this. Brainwashed by heaven and enveloped by his Love for God; some prejudices were hard to break if they have been with you since before the beginning of Time. But if one looked closely, there was still a silver lining in all this. In the last nearly six millennia, Crowley had cracked his way into Aziraphale´s heart. All the little gestures, all the faint smiles, all the stolen glances had been carefully noted and catalogued by the angel in tiny spaces of his soul. Deep down he knew that these were not mere temptations; he had witnessed Crowley perform them, Hell, he had done some himself as the part of the Arrangement! This was personal. This was with purpose. This was with meaning. This was something more. He had _wanted_ it to be something more.

Crowley had grown on Aziraphale after living together for weeks now. Leaving would mean that he would have to let go of the companionship, sharing food, drink, talks, everything. Granted, they had been apart for centuries altogether before, and Aziraphale had been perfectly content and happy with his books, his own company and solitude. But now he could see that this taste of solitude would turn to sourly loneliness. Suddenly the feeling of being utterly alone crept over him. Crowley´s company was intoxicating at first, but now it was addictive. Wait! He was an angel, for God´s sake! He couldn’t give in such temptations! But was he going to? Terror gripped him tight. He HAD to go. If he didn´t, Gabriel would come inquiring; he would find Crowley and it would be bad. BAD. Not only for him, but for Crowley. Hell did not reprimand or send rude letters! Crowley would be punished. Badly. Destroyed, more likely. For no fault of his own. They are supposed to be on opposite side, God dammit!! What was he doing? Had he lost it? How could he ever think of endangering Crowley? How can he even think of being this selfish? He had to leave. And immediately.

Crowley had gone out for an evening stroll and possibly get something to eat for the angel and wine. Lots of it. For both of them. He didn’t know about Crowley, but Aziraphale would definitely need it. Lots of it, if he were to do this. Just as he was contemplating, Crowley entered. Unnoticed. He was sly and silent. “What´s bothering, angel?”, he crept up in front of Aziraphale with one bottle and two glasses in his hands. He snatched the bottle from Crowley´s hand and drank more than half of it in one go. Well this was awkward, and a little worrying for the demon. Aziraphale not smelling his wine, enjoying the rich colour, texture, not drinking slowly, lusciously.

“Angel. Look at me! Tell me what´s going on?”

“Nothing. I´m fine. Absolutely tickety-boo.”

“Tickety-boo?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, I want to ask you something.”

“Oh yes dear. Go right ahead.”

“Why did you come looking for me? Why did you look after me? We´re on opposite sides. Enemies and stuff. You know.”

At this point, Aziraphale had already opened and gulped down another half bottle, not having offered anything to Crowley. He was not by far ready for this inquiry.

“I…well…you…vanish…gone…then …all over…I…”

“Verbs Angel, use verbs. And nouns. Use all that. And for Go-ah, Sata-, Someone´s sake slow down!”

“Ngk.”

“Angel!”, Crowley tried to grab the bottle from his hands but angel held tight and tumbled, losing his balance, falling with Crowley on the floor.

“This is it!”, Crowley snapped his fingers and sobered Aziraphale up. “Ughh”, Zira scrunched up his nose and felt bitter aftertaste on his tongue. “Sit down, angel. And tell me. Stop playing stupid games already.”, he had a certain authority in his voice.

“Ok. Sorry.”, Zira mawkishly complied. “Well, after the incident, I was helping people through the war and came to know that what happened was all humanity. It was inevitable. You had nothing to do with it. Then after a while when I didn´t feel your presence anywhere, I got a little tensed. Thought I had to find you. I don’t know why. ( _he perfectly knew, chose not to tell_ ) Then eventually I did. Came to your place and saw you, well you know in THAT condition. What was I supposed to do Crowley? Leave you? Just like that? We´re…we´re friends, Crowley. And I´m an Angel. I care for ALL HER CREATURES. I can´t—I can´t help it. I mean I HAVE to. I had to.” His voice grew concerned and soft and gentle with each word.

“OK.” _He had to. HE HAD TO._ Those words stung deep. Broke his heart yet again. Crowley had stopped counting now. Of all the occult and ethereal entities, Crowley would be the only one who had experienced the physical pain of heart break time and time again. You´d think by now he would be used to it. But the universe has a twisted sense of humour. Every time, the demon´s optimism came to back to bite him on the ass. _He didn´t WANT to. He did it because it´s his job. He did it because it is his nature. You´re a demon. You are incapable of loving or being loved. What are doing? Falling for an angel!! You´re not special. And you don´t even deserve this. Just be fucking grateful. You have no right to demand even friendship from him. Be satisfied with the scraps thrown to you. You´re filth. You are fallen. NEVER forget THAT._

“Ok. Then.”

Aziraphale went back to reading and Crowley back to sleep. Sad, hurt and haunted. But at least he knew the truth now. He knew what to expect or rather what not to expect. He decided it was time to bury all those feeling deep down, lock in an infinite number pad-locks in a vault, throw the keys in the Vesuvius and the vault into Marina trench, and move on. In the morning when the demon woke up, the angel (his angel? – not anymore, right? Most definitely never) was gone. He found a neat little note on the night stand though, under a cup of perfectly brewed coffee (dark and bitter) which was miraculously kept warm for him. It was scribbled in haste, but with neat, impeccable cursive, the angel´s cursive.

_~~Deares~~ _ _Dear Crowley,_

_Sorry again for last night. Have been called off from Above for an urgent assignment to Russia._

_Take rest. And take care. Stay safe. Hopefully we´ll meet soon enough. Till then, bipity-bop._

_Ciao._

_~~Yours~~ _ _Warmest Regards,_

_Aziraphale._

Crowley read it, and the letter went up in flames; erasing any proof of their correspondence.


	3. Chapter 3- Back to the present

It took a while for Crowley to get over the fact that now Zira knew The Secret. Being a demon and the feelings of unveiling, embarrassment and vulnerability did not go well. He was accustomed of observing this in other humans now, more so due to the part of his job was to make up trouble and tempt souls; but he was never on receiving end of that. What made it more difficult was the way the angel acted on it. It irritated him that the angel had to be bloody perfect in everything he did and he could not even get mad at him when anger was like a second nature to him because of all the eternal damnation crap. He hated how easily the angel did convey his feelings. He had made his peace with suppression of whatever it was (who was he kidding here? It was definitely love.) that he felt towards Aziraphale a long, long time ago. If only had he not sauntered vaguely downwards into rebellion…

Aziraphale on the other hand was startled, in a positive manner, by the turn of events. He had not only discovered his friend´s secret that he loved poetry and wrote it but also the deeper meaning of why he wrote what he wrote. More significantly, who he wrote for. It now struck Aziraphale that the talk about upholding an image was not for his superiors in Hell or the world, but was in front of him. Why Crowley was defensive, acted in calm, composed manner. All the instances in the past, when he got Aziraphale out of trouble and acted as if him being at the right place at the right time, was not serendipity. Not at all. Somehow it seemed that the entire image of Crowley was just a façade. Aziraphale was disappointed in himself for not realizing this side of Crowley, not paying attention to his only companion on Earth since forever and more so that Crowley never felt comfortable around him to let him in his world. How could he have been so self-engrossed and naïve!

Aziraphale had been trying to contact Crowley for quite some time now. It had been seven days after the dinner at Crowley´s home. For the first couple of days when Crowley was unreachable, Aziraphale just assumed that he needed some space. But now he was getting worried. Going AWOL like this was not his nature. He decided to pay Crowley a visit. He took one of the finest scotches from his collection and took the tube to Crowley´s flat. Zira quite liked the public transport unlike Crowley who went nowhere without his 1926 Bentley. Crowley loved that machine and kept it in spitting condition from the day he bought it. Zira rang the bell to Crowley´s flat several times. No answer. He went around the parking to check on Bentley. There it was. But a layer of dust had formed on it. This made Zira panic, something was horribly wrong. He miracled the building door open and went to the flat.

As he went inside, he witnessed that the leaves of the house plants had started to turn yellow and the soil in the pots had dried up. There seriously was something amiss. An ominous feeling crept over the angel. It seemed that Crowley had vanished without a trace. This was terrifying for Aziraphale. With great difficulty, he calmed himself down and decided to methodically search for his friend instead of panicking. Where could he be? And who could track him down? The first entity that came to mind was Hastur, the Duke of Hell. But how could he get in touch with the other side? He had heard long before that there were back channels but he didn´t have any access to them. What if it was just a rumour? But he had to try. Maybe Archangel Michael knew something about it. There was a plan. He would go home, get in touch with upstairs and discreetly try to get Michael do something. After he had prevented the previous Armageddon, Upstairs wasn’t pleased with him, especially for the fact that he had fraternized with a demon to do so. But all the seemed trivial now, there was something greater at stake for Zira.

When Zira reached home, he found Uriel and Gabriel in his shop, shuffling around. “Where in the God´s name are you roaming around, you stupid angel?”, shouted Uriel at him. Uriel had always been rude to him. Before Aziraphale could respond, Gabriel grabbed his elbow and dragged him to the portal to take him to the Heaven. “Get him his weapons and take him to his platoon immediately!”, roared Gabriel as he shoved Aziraphale, Angel to the Eastern Gate toward Raphael. “What? Why?”, Zira could barely make sense of what was happening. “we have solid information that the other side has started preparing for The War. We are going to strike them before they know it. And this time if you try to act smart, then so help me God, I will kill you before I take down that asshole Lucifer!”, Michael lashed out from behind. “Now fuck off to the Eastern Gate! Your troop is waiting.” Zira couldn´t disobey the order. The final Time was here. He had to fight. There was no neutral side anymore.

While watching the endless skies from the Eastern Gate, it dawned on Aziraphale where Crowley was. He was on the other side. Forced to fight just like he was. Had he protested? Did they wipe him out of existence if he denied? Anxiety engulfed Aziraphale. What if he was never able to meet him again? He had to find him before the War was over, coz no matter which side won, the other side was going to be wiped out. They didn’t keep prisoners. Here losing meant extinction.

The War had begun. It was now fourth day, but neither of the sides seemed tired; neither of them wanted to sue for peace. Peace was never an option. If you thought that the wars humanity waged on the Earth are brutal, this one made those seem like paintball tournaments held by corporate retreats.

It was after a couple of days, somewhere near Eastern Gate of the Heaven, Aziraphale felt a soothing presence amongst fire, horror and pain. It was almost sun down and the War was pausing for the night. Most of the angels and demons who still existed, were retreating to their respective camps. The injured on both the sides were sought out and taken to the base. A sigh of relief escaped Aziraphale for another day over. Although he would have to resume the horrid fight again tomorrow, the silence in the atmosphere somehow made him feel as if he could breathe; just take in the last of what had left, the serenity of the place before the catastrophe continued. He was weary after the fight but the feeling of familiarity he felt among all this chaos lead him further. He trudged slowly towards it. It could possibly be nothing, just his fatigue playing tricks, but he had so see for himself. After a while, in a pile of debris, his flaming sword cast a shadow on a wall. He went further in to see a crumpled, distorted figure, lean, lanky whimpering in anguish.

Joy and desperation swept across Aziraphale at the same time. The long, sleek fingers clutching a sword, red hair unkempt across the face and half open golden eyes which no longer had the spark in them. It was Crowley. Rushing to the pile of stones, removing the slabs gently and as quickly as he could, Aziraphale lifted the demon in his arms and discreetly, took him to his assigned quarters. He miracled a bed and a feathered mattress and placed Crowley on it. Then healed away the bruises and wounds, cleaned his attire and put away the sword. Crowley was still unconscious. Aziraphale knelt beside the bed and tenderly touched Crowley´s cheek, murmuring a prayer under his breath. He was careful not to include the Almighty or anything Heavenly in his prayer so as not to provoke any discomfort for Crowley. Crowley stirred. He opened his eyes, posed a little smile with great effort. He hissed with pain. “Take it easy, my dear! You are okay, you are safe. I am here. For you.”, said Aziraphale, stroking his hair. Crowley drifted back.

Crowley suddenly sprung up from the bed, getting the sense of what was going on, where he was and who was he with. A scream of agony escaped his mouth as he tried to standup and get out of the angel´s quarters. Startled, Aziraphale sprung up from his seat and held Crowley tightly and trying to make him sit.

“What the hell are you trying to do?”

Crowley scrambled out of his grip, shakily heading towards the door.

“What the fu—What the fuck are YOU trying to do, Angel?? Trying to get discorporated? Out of existence? What the ACTUAL FUCK were you THINKING?? Bringing me here?? To the other side? They will not only kill you; they will first torment you like Hell for millennia before sending you to oblivion if they found out that you brought a Demon back and saved him!!! Are you mad?? How can someone as smart as you be so stupid!!?? Have you lost it completely??”

“I was helping you; you knob!!”

“Help—helping me?? By getting yourself conveniently killed? Still acting all high and mighty, are we?”

“I can´t let you die…, Crowley.”, pain and sincerity in Zira´s voice calmed and annoyed Crowley at the same time. “I have a plan. Just listen. Please. Jus--just have faith in me, for once my dear!”. There it was, the tenderness, agility, hope and beseeching in his voice that melted Crowley into an emotional heap of nothing.

“I hate you Angel!”

“I know. But just… don’t leave.”

“Fine. Get on with your “plan” then.”

“But first sit. Over exertion is not good for you darling.”

He sits. Aziraphale tells him the plan. “It is too risky. I can´t agree to this Angel!” Aziraphale reached over and cupped Crowley´s face in his hands. “Even if there is a slightest chance of it working, I WILL take it.” There is solace in his words which soothes Crowley, and even though deep down he disagrees, the courage in Aziraphale gives him confidence. “OK. Fine.” “Oh, Crowley!”, he promptly kisses Crowley on the cheek. Crowley flushes.

The plan was simple and elegant. First Crowley was to escape through one of the back channels to Hell and create a diversion by sprinkling holy water in the camp. Then taking the advantage of this, he would take his ethereal form to Alpha Centauri, discorporating his corporeal form, registering him destroyed in the books of Hell. After some time, Aziraphale was to follow his lead with his trick with Hellfire. They would live off eternity at Alpha Centauri and neither Heaven or Hell would bother to look for petty Angel and Demon who sucked at their jobs. For them, their obliteration would be good riddance! Collateral damage.

“Angel?” “Yes…”

“It is only few hours to dawn. Can I tempt you to a quick nap?” “Umm…I could use one, I guess. Big day tomorrow…”

Crowley miracled a bed next to his. Aziraphale stretched himself on the mattress, letting out a sigh as he sunk into the fluffy mattress. “Fluffy mattress for my fluffy Angel”, mused Crowley as he smiled to himself. “You asleep, Angel?” “Hmm?” “I´m cold. And aching.”

Suddenly the beds merged into one as Crowley felt a hand slide over his torso. Crowley turned his side, into a foetal position and snuggled close to the curve of angel´s neck as he felt angel wrap his body around him to provide warmth to his cold form. He watched the angel as he slept. White blonde curls disheveled, rounded cheeks, dimpled chin; he could imagine those beautiful blue eyes through closed lids. Those full, pink lips. He posed all the restraint he could not to reach out and kiss them. Feel them. Just one stupid attempt at the taste of heaven for the Fallen. Aziraphale could never feel the same way, he knew; and at this point losing him would break Crowley beyond repair. Why should he? He was an angel. Perfect in every which way one can imagine. He deserved better. Far better than a slimy demon. Crowley was pathetically grateful for the crumbs that had been thrown to him, all his life. Why should it be any different with the angel just because he felt different? He did not matter. He had never mattered. Maybe being a demon comes with its own load of desperate worthlessness. The thoughts ran incessantly in his mind. Now he had stopped fighting them. This was as intimate as it would get and he was fine with it. “You´re my best friend!” muttered Crowley before drifting off as the angel´s lips curved into a smile.

The battle commenced again. Crowley was to execute the plan just before the war stopped for the night. Till then, both of them fought for their respective sides. Bravely, no doubt but cautiously so as not to get obliterated. A duel began between Archangel Michael and Lucifer Morningstar, the leader of the damned. It was vigorous. Ghastly. Surroundings trembled with fear. Both of them were accomplished warriors and fought furiously. Deadly blows struck on both sides. Alas, Lucifer was defeated. Destroyed. And just like that silence spread over the entire arena. Heaven had won. Michael ordered the angels to find the remainder of the damned and bring them. Angels rounded them up. Crowley was one of them. He was caught before the plan could be put to action. They were to be brought before the Archangels who would then execute them. Celebration could wait.

Michael, Uriel and Gabriel stood towering over the scum from the Hell surrounded by the principalities of all the four gates. Each one of the demons was brought before them and executed one by one by Michael. No option of forgiveness. No chance of redemption. No entry into Heaven. Just turning into nothingness. All this time, standing behind Gabriel, Aziraphale was praying hard. Praying that he wouldn´t have to see Crowley. Praying that he had escaped. Then the name of the next demon was announced. “Crowley- serpent of the Eden!”. There he was, on his knees, wounded, tortured by the angels, weak. Just as Michael was about to strike his sword for a nice and clean blow to his neck, she felt Aziraphale holding her hand. Grabbing it with all this might. “NOOOOO!!!”, he screamed.

“Get out of my way! You, pathetic excuse for an Angel or you will be next!”

“But an angel cannot kill an angel!! What would you answer to the Almighty! It is against the rules”, the Principality of the Western gate interrupted.

“I´ll register him as collateral damage! And who would challenge that? Anyone?”, growled Michael. No one came forward. “That´s more like it. Now you, Aziraphale. This is your last warning! Get the fuck out of my way! Be grateful that I am not executing you for fraternizing with this filth as it is.”

“Angel, please, get out of the way!”, whimpered Crowley. “It is over.”

“No! I will not allow it.”, Aziraphale pulled Crowley into a tight embrace, protecting his withered form with his wings.

“Azira—Angel, let me go. I am not worth it. I am already damned. Don’t pull yourself down to my level.” He turned to the Archangel who was running out of patience. “Michael, I have one request. One last request.”, pain and sincerity flowing in the golden eyes. “What?”

“Let my end be at the hands of Aziraphale.”

“What? No!!! I will not do it. OVER MY DEAD BODY!”, he clutched Crowley tighter. Crowley gasped in pain but Zira did not care.

“Accept it Angel. Please. I beg you. You know you can´t save me, this is beyond you. But at least you can give me this last chance of redemption, as metaphorical as it may be. Don’t deny this. Don’t take this away from me Angel!”. Tears flowed through Aziraphale´s eyes, uncontainable, soaking Crowley´s face. This was it. Crowley understood. The angel did not agree but was convinced. He would grant him the Last Wish.

Aziraphale extended his hand and Michael handed him the sword. He was shaking terribly. Took a deep breath to make himself steady. A very humane practice as there was no air and he didn´t need to. “Angel, I want you to know something, understand something…there is no harm in saying this now…I…”, words barely came out as a whisper as he labored through. Aziraphale placed a finger on his lips. “I know. I know, my dear. I have known for a while now.”, sobbed Aziraphale, as agonizing regret took over him. More than hundreds of years. All wasted. Because he was a moron. Complete idiot, coward and selfish. He took a deep breath again, placing the sword beside them and took Crowley´s face in his hand, placing the other hand behind his neck for support. He ran his hand through the shining red curls, pulling him close and kissed Crowley passionately on the lips. He didn’t care that the others were watching. He didn’t care that he was committing sin. He didn’t care if it led to eternal damnation. _He simply didn’t care._

Crowley moaned as Zira went deeper, more fervent, melting into his mouth. He finally tasted heaven. Zira had stopped time, he didn´t realize. Just for him. Just as he had. Once... “I love you too, my dear.” The blade went through his form, and once where there was the demon, now there was nothing. Emptiness. Gone without a trace. The angel sank to his knees, weeping uncontrollably.

“Next!”, Michael called out and Heaven went on doing its job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yessss, here Zira can also stop the time! So Sue me....
> 
> And yes all are miserable but then so is Life! Sadly.
> 
> Thank you for reading and indulging in my fantasy! ❤️❤️🤗🤗


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